


Tweaker

by themoononastick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breathplay, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-16
Updated: 2011-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-20 11:51:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoononastick/pseuds/themoononastick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean don't work out their arguments like most brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tweaker

**Author's Note:**

> Thank to zelda_zee for the beta.

Sam can taste blood on his tongue. He doesn’t know if it’s from the punch he threw that split Dean’s lip or from Dean’s teeth sinking razor-sharp into his when he lurched forward and kissed him seconds later. Sam doesn’t really care if it’s his or Dean’s, he just savors the taste as it washes copper-bright across his senses. It means they’re both still alive even if Dean is trying his hardest not to be.

He’s got one hand on Dean’s hip, holding him in place and the other wrapped around Dean’s throat, applying just enough pressure to make Dean’s eyes roll back in their sockets and his voice sound thin and strained when he gasps _Don’t you stop, Sammy, don’t you dare stop_. Dean’s thighs squeeze like a vice where they’re wrapped around his waist and his hand is pulling and tugging at his cock like his life depends on it. Sam’s fucking into him hard and fast, slamming his hips forward relishing the slap of skin on skin and harsh sound of Dean trying to drag air into his lungs.

Sam wants to slap Dean’s hand away, wants to wind his belt round Dean’s wrists and tie it to the headboard, deny him that touch just as he’s denying him air. He’s so fucking angry that he’s half-tempted to just fuck into Dean until he comes and then walk away. Leave Dean spread open on the bed, desperate and achingly hard and unable to do anything about it. Perhaps then Dean will understand that he needs Sam as much as Sam needs him.

Instead he freezes when he’s buried balls-deep in Dean’s body and leans forward, releasing his grip on Dean’s throat and waiting until Dean is back with him, until Dean’s attention is focused on him and only him.

"Put your hands above your head and keep them there until I say you can move."

He’ll make it Dean’s choice. He’ll see if Dean can do this one thing without fighting him every step of the way, without pulling the self-sufficient martyr crap that he throws in Sam’s face day in and day out. He’s sick of the pathetic bravado that Dean wears like a shield, he’s sick of feeling like this is all his fault, like he would be better off dead than living with this shell of his brother that Dean has become. Sam’s sick of the guilt that weighs him down every time Dean tries to throw what little of his life is left away. Fuck, Dean can’t even come anymore unless Sam’s hand is on his throat cutting off his air supply. It has to end and it has to end now.

Dean must see something in his face because, for once, he doesn’t say a word, just lets go of his cock and slowly raises his hands above his head, fingers scrabbling for the underside of the headboard to give him something to hold on to. Sam shifts back onto his knees and pulls him forward onto his lap, Dean’s arms stretching taut above him, his legs squeezing tight around Sam’s waist, bracing himself in place. Dean opens his mouth to speak but Sam stops him, presses the palm of his hand over Dean’s mouth, thumb and forefinger pinching his nostrils closed, watching the way Dean’s eyes go wide and feeling the pressure against his palm as Dean’s reflexes kick in and he tries to suck in air.

Sam wraps his free hand around the base of Dean’s cock and squeezes and Dean’s hips jerk up in response, and he lets out a low whine that Sam can feel vibrating against his skin.

"We do this my way, Dean. I’m going to take my hand away and you get one breath, just one, do you understand? Nod your head if you do."

Dean’s reaction is instant, a jerk of his head that Sam figures is the closest to a nod that he can manage so moves his hand just far enough away that he can feel the rush as Dean gulps in his breath. Sam does the same, filling his lungs then holding it as he replaces his hand and seals Dean’s mouth and nose.

Dean’s eyes flare wide again and then roll to white as Sam starts to drive into him with short, sharp jerks of his hips, fisting Dean’s cock in time with his thrusts. It’s messy and ragged, his co-ordination’s shot and he’s beginning to see stars across his vision as his lungs scream at him to breathe, but he focuses on the feel of Dean’s legs around his waist, on the way Dean arches into every movement of his hips, on the guttural sounds that hum against his palm. He keeps fucking into Dean over and over again until he feels Dean tense and his cock swell and jerk in his hand as he comes, thick white ropes spilling out over Sam’s fist.

Sam’s vision is graying out, his lungs screaming for air but he doesn’t give in, fucks Dean through his orgasm until he feels his own rising like a wave inside him, warmth pooling at the base of his spine, spreading across his skin, centering in his balls until it washes over him and he comes harder than he ever has before, feeling like he’s on fire, heat pouring out of him and into Dean. He’s vaguely aware that he’s moved his hand, that Dean is saying _breathe, Sammy, breathe_ and when he does it’s like a second wave of sensation is let loose inside of him, jerking his hips forward again and again even though he has nothing left inside to give.

He falls forward onto Dean, gasping for air, one hand moving to Dean’s wrists, pinning them in place above his head. Dean clears his throat to speak but Sam stops him, crushing their lips together, claiming Dean’s mouth with a kiss. Sam pulls back and Dean follows, eyes glazed and mouth open but Sam just rolls off him, lies at his side and stares at the ceiling and whispers "No more heroics, Dean, promise me."

Sam doesn’t expect an answer, he knows Dean is too hell-bent on self-destruction to promise him that but, as he drifts off to sleep, he hears Dean’s voice soft and low say,

"I promise, Sammy, okay."


End file.
